Stay With Me
by dksanm
Summary: Inspired by "Stay With Me" by Sam Smith. Takes place after TSOT. Sherlock has been using Molly's flat as a bolt hole. Everything would be fine if she wasn't still in love with him and engaged to someone else.
1. Chapter 1

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Knowing exactly who it is, she doesn't stop brushing her teeth. She walks out the bathroom, steps over Toby, unlocks the front door and lets Sherlock in. She walks quickly back to the bathroom as Sherlock begins to remove his coat and scarf.

She spits into the sink and turns the faucet on. "I thought you'd be here earlier," Molly shouts from within the bathroom.

"Janine insisted that I have dinner with her. Hello Toby," he says, bending down to pet the cat as he brushes up against his leg in greeting. He can hear Molly gargle and then spit. She exits the bathroom and enters the living room walking directly over to the side table next to her couch. She grabs a key from the drawer and hands it to him.

"What's this for?", he asks, looking at the silver key in his palm.

"So I don't have to keep on waiting up for you." She looks down avoiding his gaze. "How long do you reckon you'll be dating Janine? Just out of curiosity."

"However long it takes for her to allow me access into her bosses office," he replies, nonchalant.

Molly sighs and then says, "It's not right Sherlock. You shouldn't use people like that. She might really fall for you."

He looks at her and says, "That's the plan."

"You should go about it a different way," she says, looking up at him.

"Why's that?", Sherlock asks, curious as to the answer.

"You're letting her believe you have actual feelings for her."

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and walks over to her couch. "I occasionally have dinner with her. She's the one who instigates all of the physical contact. I merely allow it to happen." He's sitting on her couch now, his eyes closed and hands together, thinking. "Any feelings she believes I have for her are her own mistake."

She stares at him in disbelief and then walks away leaving him in her living room and goes to bed.

She's woken up an hour later by Sherlock. He's gently shaking her shoulder and looking down at her.

"What is it Sherlock?" She blinks up at him in confusion.

"Your sofa is too small, I can't properly lie down and think."

"That's not my fault. You have a perfectly good couch at yours," she says, and she snuggles further into the sheets.

"I can't think there can I? Move." He's actually pushing her now.

She grabs her pillow and sits up, annoyed. She's about to stand up when Sherlock places a hand on her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asks, confused.

Her mouth drops open, wondering what is actually going on in his brain. She points to the door and says, "To the couch."

"Why?"

She raises her eye brows at him and says, "Because you are literally moving me so you can lie down."

He scoffs at her, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm only requesting that you move over. I may need you here just incase."

"Incase of what?" She shakes her head, trying to wake herself up a bit more.

"I might have to talk things through, it helps me sometimes if I can speak to someone. You don't have to respond. Your presence is enough." His knee is already on the bed, and if she doesn't move over now, he may actually just lay on top of her.

She slides over, muttering to herself, then lays back down and settles in on her side, facing him. After a few moments of silence she asks, "Why do you allow her to stay in your flat if you're not even there?"

He's on his back, hands together under his chin and staring up at the ceiling. "She enjoys sleeping in my bed and wearing my shirts. Helps her to think we have a stronger connection," he says.

"She never asks you stay?", Molly asks him.

"She has," he mumbles closing his eyes. "Told me to hold her while she slept. Hence why I'm here so often."

They are quiet again and she's about to fall asleep when Sherlock quietly says, "Where's Tom?"

She opens her eyes and looks at him, his eyes still closed. She answers back, just as quiet, "He's in Edinburgh. Working. He'll be back in a few days."

"Ah." Its quiet and she's about to fall asleep again when he asks, "Does he still become upset when I stay over?"

She sighs, annoyed, "Yes, sometimes. I was about to fall asleep Sherlock."

He completely dismisses her. "And you've explained to him that there is no reason to be?"

She rolls onto her back and looks up out the window next to her bed. "Yes. I've told him we're just friends. But he still gets upset."

He nods his head, "Are you going to tell him I came over?"

"Probably not." She rolls onto her other side now, her back towards Sherlock and hugs the blanket closer to her.

"I see." A few more minutes pass and then, "Molly wha-"

"Sherlock! I'm trying to sleep!" she says loudly, clearly annoyed with him.

"You don't have to answer. I'm merely thinking out loud."

"Then stop thinking in a way that sounds like you're asking me questions," she says, sighing louder then necessary.

He's quiet for a minute and then, "Are you always this cranky when tired?"

She doesn't reply. Just breathes in and slowly exhales.

"Right."

* * *

She wakes up before her alarm. That's rare for her. Usually only happens when she's fully rested and there's no way that's happened, considering she was sharing her bed with Sherlock Holmes. She keeps her eyes closed and hugs the duvet closer to her, breathing in deeply. The sheets smell of fresh linen and she snuggles into them a bit more. They move, and her eyes snap open. Everything hits her at once. The warmth, the not so soft pillow under cheek, the strong thumping of a heart beat under her ear, the hand resting on her waist and the arm hugging her close to his body.

She looks up at his face, surprised to see him looking down at her, eyes not as hard as she expected them to be.

"Sorry," she mumbles, looking down and pushing herself up into a seated position. "You should've woke me."

"No need to apologize," he says, sitting up and resting on his elbows. "And you made it perfectly clear last night that waking you is not something I should do."

She looks down at the bed, avoiding his gaze. "Yes, well, I didn't mean to hug you. I know you don't like that sort of thing."

"It's fine, Molly." he says, more gently then she's ever heard him speak. "I didn't mind."

She looks up, and Sherlock is just looking at her, his eyes soft and a small smile on his face.

"Sher-"

_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz._

She's interrupted by her alarm and when she looks back, Sherlock is still looking at her, ignoring her alarm entirely. Eventually, Molly reaches over him and shuts the alarm off on her night stand. She's already leaning across him and decides to complete the journey and crawls over him, getting off the bed.

He hasn't taken his eyes off her, and she can feel it, boring into her. She looks down, breathes in, looks back up and smiles at him.

"I have to get ready for work. You're welcome to stay if you need. Just remember to lock up when you leave." She turns and goes towards the bathroom without another glance back in his direction.

"Of course," Sherlock replies, to no one in particular.


	2. Chapter 2

To say it was a hectic day would be an understatement. She arrived to work late because she missed her stop on the tube. When she finally got to Bart's, she realized she left a file that she needed back at home, therefore pushing her back a day on an autopsy report that needed to be completed. That caused her to have a meeting with her superior explaining to them why exactly she couldn't complete the tasks assigned to her that day, and to top it all off, she realized she forgotten to feed Toby before she left in the morning.

She was tired, she felt drained mentally, which was the exact opposite of how she felt when she woke up that morning. But as soon as she opened her eyes and discovered that she was sleeping on Sherlock, all of that peace and restfulness that she felt escaped her, and left her feeling sad, distracted and guilty.

Molly didn't want to admit it, but she couldn't lie to herself. It was nice. She liked waking up with his arm around her, her cheek in his chest. The bad part was she felt more comfortable sleeping on him then she ever did sleeping on a pillow next to Tom. Tom, she loves Tom. She knows for a fact that she does. She can see having a life with him, growing old with him. Starting a family. And the best part was, she knows Tom loves her back, just as much. But when she woke up and saw Sherlock, all those emotions she thought were gone came flooding back. It would happen every now and then, ever since his return, but she always told herself it was just residual feelings. It wasn't love. Just remnants of an extremely strong crush. That's it's normal to feel that sometimes. Of course she still cared for him, he was her friend. And as difficult as it was for her to believe, she knew that he considered her a friend as well. That she mattered to him on some level.

"Dr. Hooper! Oi! Dr. Hopper!"

She shakes her head, startled, then turns and notices that one of the interns has been waving a file in her face.

"Sorry," she says apologetically, "what was that?"

"I said Dr. Stamford wanted me to give this to you. Said you forgot your signature on one of the forms."

"Right yeah." She opens the file, finds the blank line and signs it, handing it back to the intern.

"You alright?" the kid asks, looking at her curiously.

"Yeah, fine thanks," she replies, a bit distracted. "Just one of those days, mind's all over the place."

"Right. Is it cool if I head home now? It's 5:30," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah of course, just make sure you check in with Mike before you go."

"Will do. Have a good night Dr. Hooper," he says turning and walking out the door.

Thankful for the youth's ability to always know when the working day is done, Molly gathers up her things, locks her office and goes home.

* * *

She arrives home half an hour later, fully expecting Toby to pounce on her as soon as she enters her flat. But to her surprise, she finds him stretched out, sleeping in the middle of her sofa.

"Toby?" she says, slightly worried that he passed out from starvation.

The cat opens his eyes, not moving any other part of his body, looks at her, meows, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

"Okay…" She locks her door and removes her coat. She's about to hang it up when she notices that a much larger, black jacket is occupying most of her coat rack along with it's best friend, the blue scarf. She looks down, and sees his shoes, placed next to each other on her shoe stand. Well, at least he's trying to be neat, she thinks to herself.

It's quiet, if she listens really hard, she can hear Toby purring and the faint sound of someone over to her bedroom, she finds the door slightly ajar, and the room completely dark. She opens the door, and there lying in her bed is Sherlock. She turns on the light and if it wasn't for the different shirt he is currently wearing, she would've thought he hadn't moved since she left him this morning.

"How long have you been here?", she asks.

"Not sure." He opens his eyes and looks out the window, noticing it's dark out. "The sun was still up."

She walks into her closet and pulls out her favorite jumper and pajama pants. "Do you happen to know what's wrong with Toby?" she asks, still standing in her closet.

"No. He was hungry while ago, so I fed him."

She sticks her head out the closet. "You what?"

"He kept jumping on my head every time I'd lay down, so I kept feeding him until he stopped," he says, like it's such a normal thing for Sherlock Holmes to be taking care of a cat.

"How much did you feed him exactly?"

"I don't know," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "Four cans maybe."

She looks at him, wide eyed. "Sherlock, you can't give him that much food!"

He's sitting up on his elbows now, looking at her. "Don't worry about it. He didn't finish the 4th can so clearly he knows when he's had enough."

Just then Toby makes a loud coughing noise from the living room sounding as if he's about to vomit. Molly drops her clothes and runs out to check on him. He's standing on all fours in the middle of her couch coughing more violently then she's ever seen. She's about to pick him up when he let's out a loud yawn, curls his tail, and flops back down on the sofa.

Sherlock comes walking up behind her, holding the clothes she dropped in her haste. He hands it over to her and says, "Told you he'd be fine."

She sighs, "Thank you for feeding him Sherlock. But please, next time just stop after one can."

"O-kay," he mouths silently, knowing she always finds it amusing when he does that, but Molly doesn't see because she's still looking down at Toby, worried. "Weren't you going to take a bath?", he asks, looking at her, a half smile on his face.

"Huh?", she looks at him confused and he points down to the clothes in her hands. "Oh yes, right." She wanders off towards the bathroom, leaving Sherlock alone with Toby in the living room.

"Don't scare her next time." Sherlock says to the cat, who is currently laying on its back, snoring quietly.

Molly is taking longer then she normally does to bathe, but she can't bring herself to care. She's just glad the day is almost over and she can go to bed. She finishes up, gets dressed and goes to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Sherlock is currently sitting on the couch, watching something on the television. Too tired to make anything complicated, she makes herself a turkey sandwich and decides to make one for Sherlock as well. She brings them both out, and sets one on the coffee table in front of him and brings the other with her, and sits on the opposite side of the sofa, Toby laying down on the cushion between them.

She's about to take a bite out of her sandwich when her phone starts ringing. Placing her plate down on the table, she gets up and grabs her cell phone out of her bag hanging on the coat rack.

She looks at the phone and smiles, "Tom! Hi!"

Sherlock turns his head at that and looks in her direction. She smiles at him, mouths "It's Tom" and points to the phone, then walks over to her kitchen.

Molly returns a few minutes later, taking her seat on the opposite side of the couch, Toby still snoring quietly between them. Sherlock is staring at the television, his sandwich sitting on the plate, untouched.

"You didn't eat," she says, stating the obvious.

"No, I was waiting for you to come back," he says, then picks up the sandwich and begins to eat. He takes a rather large bite and with his mouthful he says, "How's-" he swallows, "Tom?"

"He's good," she answers, more brightly than her usually tone. "He just wanted to say hello and tell me what time he'd be back this weekend."

Sherlock nods his head takes another large bite and then says, "You two seem to be getting on well."

She laughs and says, "Yes, well, we are engaged."

He smiles at her and swallows, "Of course."

"How's John and Mary then? Have you seen them since the wedding?"

"No, but John did text me the other day. It's confirmed. She is with child." Sherlock takes two more large bites and with that, his sandwich is gone.

"That's lovely, good for them," she says happily, smiling and going back to her food. "What is it we're watching then?"

"Some American program. Corpses have come alive and people are running from them. I'm mainly watching for the African American woman with the samurai sword. She has exceptional form and technique and is the only one smart enough to have captured two zombies. I'm hoping she does an experiment on them," he says, matter-of-factly.

Said character is now on the screen, walking with two zombies, chains around their necks. Molly sees that the actress is quite fit, and has a fairly lovely face, once you look past all the dirt and sweat she's covered in. "Is that the only reason you watch the program?", she says looking over at him and smiling.

He narrows his eyes at her, "What exactly are you implying?"

"Well, she's pretty Sherlock. I was just wondering if you thought so as well."

"I do not think she's _'pretty'_," he says as if it's the most ridiculous notion anyone has ever had. "I have no idea who this woman is."

She points to the screen, "I don't know who that bloke is with the cross bow, but I can tell you he's fit," she answers, smiling.

He looks at the screen. "You think he's fit? The dirty one that needs to bathe?"

She laughs, "They all need to bathe Sherlock. And yes I do. He has nice arms."

Sherlock stares at the screen, a confused look on his face. The man with the 'nice arms' has just killed another zombie by stabbing it in the head. It seems like the camera is suddenly focusing on his arms more than necessary.

"That's not even their natural state. He's flexing, and the addition of the dirt on his arms makes the muscles look more distinct," he says, rather annoyed.

Molly shrugs and says, "Still think he's fit."

Sherlock picks up the remote and changes the channel. Molly laughs at him, finishes off her food, then puts the plate down on the table in front of her.

"I don't understand how you can think he's fit. You don't even know him," he's says, bewildered.

"Have you never thought someone was physically appealing? You've never looked at someone and just thought, _'Wow, they're fit' _?"

"Never," he says, looking at the screen.

Sherlock stops on a talk program. According to the little graphic at the bottom of the screen, this episode is about women trying to figure out who the father of their child is. He puts the remote down and after five seconds he begins yelling at the television. She can't stand these programs, but Sherlock gets so involved, she just enjoys listening to him, hearing how passionate he is for something so ridiculous.

She looks over at him, and his focus is solely on the screen but he's now petting Toby who's still occupying the space between them. He's complaining about how idiotic the people are. That just by the way one man has his shirt on, that he is clearly the father of this particular child in question.

Molly smiles to herself, happy where she is in her relationship with Sherlock. She admits, that yes, she used to be in love with him, but she's glad she's over it. If this is what Sherlock has to offer, she'll take it gladly. Content in knowing that no matter what, Sherlock and her are friends.

* * *

Molly wakes up, not sure how long she's been asleep. The television is still on, it's now some infomercial selling a magical blender apparently. She can feel Toby on her lap, fast asleep. She turns her head toward the center of the couch and looks down. Her left hand is sitting on top of Sherlock's right, her pinky between his thumb and forefinger. She can't see it, but if she holds her breath, she can feel his thumb rubbing her pinky.

She looks up at him, and he hasn't noticed that she's awake. He's looking down at their hands, his face blank, eyes blinking occasionally. She stays still for a few moments longer, then clears her throat, stretches her arms out, breaking the contact. When she looks back at him, he's blinking rather rapidly, looking as if he's processing a million things.

"Sherlock, you can take my room," she says smiling at him. "I'll sleep out here with Toby."

He just nods his response, still blinking. He gets up, walks to the room and gently shuts the door.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a week since Sherlock last slept over but he's come by Bart's almost everyday. The first two days, he just came in and used the lab. She would help him occasionally, and if he wasn't too involved, they would sometimes discuss what type of experiments they would like to do if they actually had reanimated corpses. Although both couldn't decide which experiment would take advantage of the situation most, they both agreed that if the samurai woman from the television program didn't experiment on the corpses soon, she would be wasting an amazing opportunity. The next day he comes in, he asks if he could get a foot from her, and that if possible, two would be ideal. She smiled, looked up at him and jokingly said, "Sure, but I hope you're not planning on using them for dancing, because I only have two left feet!" She couldn't help but to laugh at her own wit, her laughter growing by the fact that Sherlock had no reaction at all.

That was two days ago, and now he's here asking for more parts.

"Any eyeballs Molly. The last set you gave me fell in my tea."

She looks at him, eye brows raised.

"What?", he asks, confused as to why she seems confused.

"Nothing. I guess I'm just surprised that I'm still surprised," she says, confusing him even more.

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

Shaking her head, she says, "Nevermind. Come on, you can pick what set you want. I have quite a few."

They leave the lab, Sherlock following her to the cold storage. Molly unlocks the door and they both enter. Once inside, Molly switches the lights on and says, "Oddly enough, there's been a several donations this month. Lucky for you, not so lucky for them!" Again she chuckles, amused by her own statement.

Ignoring her, Sherlock's eyes widen, looking very much a child taking their first steps into a toy store. There are several jars of lungs, livers, stomachs, hands, etc. Basically every part of the human body is tucked away in there, in some liquid, contained in some jar.

Not knowing where to look, Sherlock's eyes move rapidly over everything. He wants it all. Sensing this, Molly quickly grabs him by the elbow and directs him over to the eyeballs.

"Here you go. You can have your pick!", she says, in a manner not normally used when one is surrounded by human remains. He doesn't respond right away and when she looks up at him, she sees that he's still distracted by another shelf. The one with the hearts.

She gives him a little shove. "Come on Sherlock. Pick a set."

He looks down at her, "Is it possible for me to have a heart as well?"

She smiles, "No. You asked for eyes and I can give you eyes. If I let you take a heart, you'll want more and end up clearing out the whole place!"

He gives her a half smile and is about to say something when suddenly his eyes shift above her head. "Huh. That's interesting."

"What is?", she asks looking up, following his gaze.

"These." He picks up a jar containing a pair of brown eyes. "The color. They're very similar to yours." He looks at them for a few more seconds, then his eyes shift over to her, looking into her eyes.

He stopped talking and she doesn't know what to say. He hasn't broken eye contact tho, and she's been keeping herself from blinking for so long that her eyes are starting to sting.

Finally he says, "But yours are more interesting."

Molly inhales and Sherlock blinks, breaking eye contact. He smiles at her and says, "Is there really no way for me to take a heart?"

* * *

Back in the lab, Sherlock is smiling to himself, carrying two medium size coolers.

"Really, Sherlock. That's it. I can't give you anymore. You'll have to wait until next month."

He nods his head, "Yes, yes. I won't ask for anything until next month."

Just then Molly's phone rings. She looks down and sees that it's Tom. "Sorry I have to take this," she says, then swipes her phone to answer. "Hello?"

Sherlock places the coolers down, walks over to the station he was working at earlier, and begins to put on his coat and scarf.

"No it's okay, I understand… yes… Okay yeah, tomorrow night… I'll talk to you later. Have a good night Tom."

"That was Tom then?", Sherlock asks just as he finishes looping his scarf around his neck.

"Yeah," she says, locking her phone and placing it back into her pocket. She looks up at him, "Just found out he has an early meeting tomorrow so he had to cancel on dinner."

"That's unfortunate."

"It's okay. I'm kind of tired anyway," she says, giving a shrug. "Spending the night in sounds ideal right now."

"That it does," says Sherlock, agreeing whole heartedly.

She smiles at him, "Well, Sherlock, enjoy your specimens. And make sure to not have a brew unless they are all properly contained and stored away."

"Of course."

* * *

Bathed, hair slightly damp, and dressed in her pajamas, Molly sits on her couch clicking away at the remote trying to find something interesting to watch. She knows she should get up and order for take out, but she can't seem to bring herself to get up. _Oh well_, she thinks to herself. _Looks like it'll just be toast tonight.. Oh! Maybe I'll boil an egg._

Just then she hears a rattle outside her front door. She looks over and the door suddenly unlocks and pops open. The intruder, however can't get in because Molly, smartly enough, always locks the chain on once she's inside.

"Molly!"

_Honestly, who else it would be?_

Still too tired, she yells from the couch, "Sherlock, why are you here?"

"I'm hungry! Open the door!"

"I'm tired! Just break in!"

"I refuse to replace your chain lock again and I'd rather not climb through your window! Just let me in!"

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, she gets up, unlocks the chain, and opens the door to see Sherlock standing there holding a take-out bag from her favorite Thai place.

He pushes pass her, holds up the bag and says, "Pad thai and yellow chicken curry."

"How'd you-"

"Please," he says placing the bag on the coffee table and shrugging out of his coat. "You have 4 menus scattered around your flat." He looks over at her fridge and sees one stuck on it. "Make that 5 now."

She walks over and takes a seat on the couch as Sherlock begins to take the food out.

"This is really nice of you Sherlock, but why-"

"Saying thank you for earlier. I know you didn't really want to give me all of that."

"It's okay," she says with a small smile. "We really did get a lot of donations this month and I checked the schedule, and we actually have quite a few more parts coming in soon."

His eyes light up.

"No, Sherlock." Her voice stronger than normal.

His smile drops, but only just.

He grabs a plate and utensils, hands it to her and opens up the containers.

Half an hour later, Molly's coffee table is covered with empty plates and food containers. Sherlock and Molly are sitting on the couch having a passionate discussion as to whether or not it's actually possible for re-animated corpses to become a reality.

"Honestly, Sherlock, you can't dismiss my argument by saying _'because'_," she says laughing at him.

He looks at her and starts to chuckle himself. He's about to say something when Molly's front door unlocks and swings opens on it's own again. They both look over.

"Tom! Hi!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Molly."

Even though he's addressing her, his eyes are on Sherlock, mainly focusing on the fact that the man's thigh is too close to his fiancé's.

"Thought I would surprise you," he says, lifting up his hands, showing her the bag of take out he's carrying. He glances at her briefly then looks back to the man still seated on the couch. "Sherlock," he nods, "didn't realize you were coming over."

Sherlock doesn't respond, just continues to meet Tom's gaze. Molly gets up, walks over to him smiling and gives him a hug. "Yeah," she says smoothing her hair back. "He just popped by."

Tom looks over at Molly. "I can see that," he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Molly reaches forward and takes the bag from Tom.

"She's already eaten. You can just take that with you and have it for work," Sherlock says, standing up. "Judging by the distance you have to travel, the food should cool down enough making it safe to place in the fridge as soon as you get home."

"Sherlock!" Molly says loudly, turning to face him.

At the same time, Tom says, obviously annoyed, "Actually mate, I was planning on staying here with my fiancé, thanks."

Sherlock shrugs and says, "If you like. Although it doesn't seem wise considering your jealousy over my and Molly's relationship."

Tom breathes in, louder than normal and steps forward right as Molly moves to stand in front of him.

"Tom!" She says, looking up at him and placing a hand on his chest.

He looks down at her, eyes wide and exhales, this one loud as well.

"Are you aware that you breathe obnoxiously loud?", Sherlock asks, looking at Tom, his eyebrows raised in question.

Molly turns around and says, "Sherlock I think you should go."

"What? Why?", surprised Molly is telling him to leave.

"Just go, I'll talk to you later."

Sherlock looks at Molly, trying to figure out if she's being serious. She gestures for him to go, and if Molly were anyone other then herself, she might have missed the hurt that flickered across his face. He walks over to the coat rack, puts on his coat and scarf and leaves without another word.

"Tom I'm sor-"

"You can't stay away from him can you?" Tom says, his voice is calm, but when she looks at him she can see the anger and hurt etched on his face.

"Tom, honestly, he just came by," she says, trying to make him understand.

"How many times has he been here since I asked you to stop letting him use your flat whenever he wants?"

Molly doesn't respond. Just shrugs her shoulder and looks down. She can't look him in the eye because she knows she's at fault.

"Molly," he says, rubbing his forehead, eyes closed in frustration. "I told you I don't like it when he comes by. I asked you, that if it's absolutely necessary for him to stay here, that you just tell me, so that I know. So that I don't have to look like an idiot when I'm trying to spend time with you and your friends and he starts spitting out intimate details about you and me sitting there trying to figure out how in the hell he knows all these things."

"Tom, I didn't tell you because I know how upset you get when he stays over," she says pleading for him to see it from her point of view.

"So you thought not telling me would be better?"

Molly shrugs again, not knowing what to say.

"I'm tired, Molly. I don't want to do this anymore."

"You don't want to do what?" she asks, worried of what he's about to say.

"I don't want to compete with Sherlock Holmes."

"But you're not."

"Stop lying," he says, his voice sad.

Molly doesn't say anything.

"Are you still in love with him?"

She can't meet Tom's eyes so she looks down, past his feet, below the floor, and stares into nothing. "I don't know," she says, her voice small.

"I think you need to figure that out."

And without another word Tom walks out of Molly's flat, leaving her standing there, holding a bag of cold food.

* * *

She hasn't slept. She hasn't eaten. She hasn't talked to anyone since Tom left last night. She doesn't know if she's still in love with Sherlock or not, but she does know that she loves Tom. She can't blame him for being upset and if she's being honest, she's surprised it took this long for Tom to finally say something. Her alarm goes off so she starts to get ready for work. She gets dressed, puts out food for Toby, and since she's not in the mood to eat, leaves early for work.

Molly barely arrives to work on time since she missed her stop again, distracted by her own thoughts. Whatever feelings she may or may not have for Sherlock, she knows that ultimately it doesn't matter because she's lucky enough that Sherlock even considers her a friend, and there's no way their relationship would go any further than that. She decides the right thing to do is to make it work with Tom. She wants to spend her life with him. She loves him and he loves her and that's all she ever dared to ask for. She sends Tom a message, asking if he would like to meet for lunch, wanting to talk to him in person. He tells her ok, and that he'll meet her at their usual cafe around 11:30.

Molly goes about her day, trying to be as productive as possible, but the truth is, she isn't. She can't focus, she feels queasy, and she just wishes lunch time would just come so she can talk to Tom already. She's ready to tell Sherlock to not use her flat whenever he likes, but what if Tom doesn't even care. She's lied to him for weeks, what if he doesn't even want to be with her anymore.

It's 11:10 and Molly gets ready to leave for lunch. She gathers her things and makes her way out. She pushes the button for the lift, but for some reason it's taking longer than normal. Not wanting to be late, she decides to take the stairs. She makes it down one flight when she hears the door open a few floors below her and a familiar voice say, "Come on, let's just take the stairs."

"Sherl, it's 6 floors, I'm sure the lift will be here in a sec." _Ah, Janine. I can't believe he let's her call him Sherl._

"Would you rather just wait down here? It shouldn't take me long," says Sherlock, sounding more like he's in the stairwell now.

"No, I'll come. Why are we here though?", says Janine, now also in the stairwell.

"You want to know how I was able to solve my last case, yes? I need to get a few things from Molly first," says Sherlock.

"How are you so sure she's going to give it to you? She already gave you almost all the major organs. You don't even have enough fridge space to store it all. The milk went bad!", says Janine.

"Nonsense, all I have to do is compliment her and she'll give me whatever I want. That's what I always do."

"Sherlock," says Janine, sighing, "You shouldn't manipulate people's feelings for your advantage."

He scoffs, "It's not as if she's in love with me. She's engaged to Tom. And if she didn't rattle on so much and tell inane jokes I wouldn't have to flirt with her just to make her shut up."

Molly pushes the door open to the fifth floor and exits the stairwell. She walks over to the lift, pushes the button and the doors immediately open. She walks in, the doors slide shut, and she exhales, not realizing she's been holding her breath that whole time.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly arrives at the cafe before Tom, so she waits for him outside. He arrives a few minutes after her, and when she sees him, her breath hitches, her vision going blurry.

"Hi," she says smiling up at him.

"Hi," he says back.

"Tom," she hiccups, and looks down, blinking, trying to control her emotions.

"Hey..", he says, rubbing her back. He grabs her hand and pulls her over to a nearby bench. "I tried not to be devastatingly handsome when I got ready this morning," Tom says, looking down at her giving a half-hearted smile. "It seems as though I failed."

She looks at him with a small smile, but she has to breathe slowly, or she might just break down.

"Tom," she looks up at him eyes red,voice shaking. "I came here wanting to talk to you in person so that you could see that I'm being honest when I tell you that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She pauses here and Tom nods his head, telling her to continue. "And as soon as I saw you, it hit me just how much I truly love you. How much I appreciate the person you are, and how much I want to marry you." Molly looks down and swallows. So scared of what she's about to say, she feels as if she's going to vomit. She forces herself to meet Tom's eyes. "I just want you to be happy and I know if I marry you, you won't be, because as much as I don't want to be, the truth is I'm still in love with him." Molly looks down at their hands, and focuses on how warm he is. "And I realized today, that I probably always will be."

Tom doesn't say anything, but his grip on her hand has gotten tighter. It's on the verge of being painful, but she doesn't say anything because that's the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

They sit in silence for a few seconds.. or is it minutes? When she looks at him again, his head is hanging down, his eyes closed.

"Tom?.. I'm really sorry," she says, so quietly she's genuinely surprised when he responds.

"Don't be. You're being honest, and that's all I ever wanted from you."

"I never meant to hurt you," she says. And although she's finding it difficult to breathe at the moment, she forces it out of her lungs, "I love you."

"I know you do."

* * *

Molly isn't sure how long she and Tom sat on that bench, but if it wasn't for Tom's assistant ringing him, letting him know he was over half an hour late for a meeting, they both might have sat there until the weekend. Not looking forward to any type of human interaction, Molly sends a message to Mike telling him that she isn't feeling well and that she's going home for the rest of the day. It's only after she hits send that she notices the 3 missed calls and 8 unread text messages. All from Sherlock. _Of course._ She's about to reply to him when her phone starts to ring. It's Sherlock. Not in the mood to talk verbally, to anyone, she declines the call and starts to type out a message. Before she even gets through the first word she receives a text from him.

**_Why did you decline my call? - S_**

**_Because I don't feel like talking. - M_**

**_Are you coming back to Bart's? I need to borrow a few items. I've been waiting for you for over 2 hours. - S_**

**_No I'm not. Just ask Mike to help you. - M_**

**_I want you to help me. - S_**

She doesn't reply to that, just locks her phone and places it back in her bag. Not in a hurry to be anywhere, she decides to walk all the way back to her flat. She's sad about Tom, but she knows it's the right thing. She can't marry him when she is in love with someone else. Once inside, she turns the kettle on, suddenly having a strong urge for tea. As she waits for the water to boil, her phone rings again, alerting her that she has a text message. She grabs her phone from the table.

**_Janine insists on staying at my flat tonight. I should be there around 11. - S_**

**_You can't come over anymore. - M_**

A few seconds pass and then-

**_Would you like me to explain to Tom that we are just friends and that he has nothing to worry about? - S_**

**_No. - M_**

**_Okay. Would you prefer I arrive earlier? - S_**

**_No, Sherlock. - M_**

**_Why? - S_**

**_Because I don't want you here. - M_**

The texts finally stop after that, and Molly is able to finish making herself some tea. She sits on her couch, places her mug on the coffee table and when she leans back she suddenly notices how dull her hands was never a big fan of jewelry, but she really did like how that ring looked on her finger. It wasn't too flashy, but it still made her feel like she stood out in a crowd. But maybe that should have been a clue. Something that could have told her it wasn't right. Because that ring made her feel special. And if there's one thing that Molly knows, it's that she's not special, not even as a friend.

* * *

Tom dropped by on Saturday to pick up a few things he left at her flat and on Sunday she ordered some food to be delivered as she was too tired to cook anything or go out. Outside of that, she hasn't spoken to anyone other than her co-workers and Toby. So when John calls her on Tuesday, waking her up well before her alarm and asks if she could come into Bart's early to run a toxicology test on Sherlock, surprised would not be the word she would use to describe what she felt.

When she arrived at Bart's she wasn't sure what to expect. But seeing Sherlock, sweaty, dressed in sweatpants and a jacket 3x bigger than him was definitely not it. He doesn't say anything, just stands there, arms crossed, and looking annoyed by the entire situation. She grabs a glass jar, walks over, and shoves it at him.

"Here."

He sighs, grabs the jar from her hand and walks away, not one glance at her. John follows him as he walks out and as the door swings open Sherlock asks, "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes." John replies just as the door clicks shut.

They both walk back in a few minutes later, Sherlock holding his sample. He walks towards Molly, but instead of handing it to her, places it on the opposite end of the table, still not looking at her.

With a sigh, Molly walks over to the other end, picks up the jar and begins the test.

It takes a few minutes, and honestly, she doesn't know what to think. She knew about his addiction before, but it's been years since he's used. Ever since he met John he's been improving, not once did it ever seem like he relapsed. So she doesn't understand. Why now? Why all the sudden would he start using again? Is he really that selfish, that as soon as things go in a direction he doesn't like, he has to fall right back to where he worked so hard to not be. He almost OD'd the first time around and he has the nerve to put everyone through this again.

"Is he clean?", asks John.

"Clean?", Molly says, feeling bad for John. He sounds so hopeful. _Does he look clean?_

She walks over to him and _finally _he looks at her. He's not even ashamed. He knows Molly knows just _how much _is in his system, and he doesn't even care. A complete disregard for those around him. That makes her more angry and sad than anything else. More so than finding out that he just uses her, that what she thought was a friendship was just him trying to not be bored. She's had enough of it.

_SMACK. SMACK. SMACK._

Her hand is stinging, but the shock and pain on his face makes it bearable.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with. And how _dare _you betray the love of your friends. Say you're sorry!"

Sherlock meets her eyes, a smug look on his face. "Sorry your engagement's over," he says. He looks away and brings his hand up to rubs his face, "though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

_Asshole. _"Stop it. Just stop it."

John walks over, he's annoyed with Sherlock now too. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could've called, you could've talked to me."

Sherlock sighs, annoyed with everyone and everything at this point. "Oh please do relax, this was all for a case."

"What kind of case would need you doing this?", John says, fed up.

"I'm might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work."

"No, we're not playing this game," he's had enough of Sherlock's bullshit.

That only pushes Sherlock more. The man they brought in with them, _Bill Wiggins_, apparently, joins in and has a go as to why John folds his shirts.

He does an impressive imitation of Sherlock's deductive skills and if Molly didn't know any better, she would've been impressed by the fact that Sherlock has been spending time with other people outside of John.

Sherlock's phone buzzes and supposedly it's good news. She asks him what is, but he ignores her and walks out, but not before excusing himself in a back-handed manner.

John thanks her for coming in and apologizes for disturbing her so early in the morning.

"It's okay John. It's not your fault."

John looks down, shaking his head, confused. "I just wish he would've said something."

"Sherlock is Sherlock," she says, shrugging her shoulders.

John looks at her, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean that Sherlock is going to do what he wants to do. He always does."

She hugs John good bye and walks over to Mary and hugs her as well.

"I'm sorry about Tom, Molly," says Mary, rubbing her arm.

"Oh God! Yea," says John, eyebrows disappearing behind his hair. "Sorry, I got caught up in Sherlock, I forgot."

She gives them a sad smile. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"How are you holding up?", asks Mary.

"I'm okay, I guess. It was for the best."

Mary gives her a sympathetic look and rubs her arm again. "If you need anything, you can always call."

"Thanks," she says, looks down, and sniffs. "Anyway, might as well get to work. I'm only," Molly looks at the clock, "an hour and a half early."

John and Mary discuss who's taking who home and Molly can't help but to think what great parents they're going to make. And then she realizes that she's comparing children to adult drug addicts and then wishes that whatever happens, Mary and John won't have to go through this again.

They all leave and Molly goes about her day, not another word from John or Mary so she assumes everything is okay…

… and then she wakes up to a message from John.

_Sherlock has been shot._


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: Hi! First off, I just wanted to thank all of you who are reading this story. This is the longest story I've every put up and it's really cool to have people who are interested in it. And another thank you too all of you who have favorited, followed and reviewed. That's the coolest and I cannot thank you all enough. If I could, I'd get everyone ice cream and we could all marathon Sherlock together! As it is, I shall marathon myself and speak to you all as if you are really in the room with me! Thank you again and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

* * *

_Sherlock has been shot._

The voicemail is still playing, but her heart is suddenly beating 5x louder than normal and it makes it difficult to hear the rest of the message from John. She decides to call him instead.

"Molly?"

"What do you mean he's been shot?!"

"Molly relax-"

"You do not leave me a message telling me Sherlock has been shot and then expect me to relax! What is going on?!"

John explains to her what happened the night previous. How Sherlock proposed to Janine in order to break into Magnussen's office, they separated when they got inside and the next thing John knew, he found Sherlock lying on the ground, a bullet hole in his chest.

She can't see anything, she can hardly process what John is saying, and breathing is becoming increasingly more difficult by the second.

"Where is he now?"

"He's in surgery."

"I'm on my way."

She hangs up and let's out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. It ends up sounding more like a cough. She blinks, and suddenly her face is wet, but she doesn't have time to figure out why. She gets dressed and is out the door faster than she's ever done anything before.

Molly arrives at the hospital to find John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson already there, waiting. She walks over to them and John is explaining to them what happened the night before. A few minutes pass and Mycroft comes out of the operating area, spots them and walks over. He explains to them Sherlock's current situation.

"… because of the placement and where the bullet was lodged, it made surgery a bit more difficult than was expected. The surgeons were able to extract the bullet and found little damage to the chest cavity. However, before he was brought in, Sherlock did lose quite a bit of blood." Mycroft clears his throat and then continues. "He flat lined, and was dead for about 2 to 3 minutes. He did however manage to push through and right now he is resting. Currently, they are in the process of transferring him to another room."

They are all silent, processing what Mycroft has just told them. Mrs. Hudson is the first to speak.

"Oh thank goodness you were there John," she says, looking over at John, a worried look on her face.

"He's a lucky bastard," says Greg, nodding his head in agreement with Mrs. Hudson.

John is looking down, shaking his head and sniffs. "I just want to find whoever did this."

"We will," Greg says, without a doubt in his voice.

"They informed me it should be a few more minutes, and then they can let us go in and see him," says Mycroft.

"Thank you, Mycroft," says John, looking up at him.

If she blinked she might have missed the confusion that flickered over Mycroft's face.

"Of course," Mycroft replies.

A nurse walks over and Mycroft excuses himself to go speak with her. John decides to give Mary a call and Mrs. Hudson and Greg walk over to the vending machine after offering to get everyone tea.

Molly has a seat, and a few minutes later Mycroft walks over.

"Miss Hooper," he greets her with a nod of his head. "Would you mind?", he gestures to the empty seat next to her.

"Not at all," she answers back gesturing towards the seat as well.

"Thank you." Mycroft sits down without another word.

She's not sure what to say to him, so she checks her watch a few times, pulls out her phone, and looks around just trying to find something to talk to him about. Without any luck she looks over at the man himself and when she does, she smiles and chokes, trying to cover up her amusement. He's sitting, his eyes closed, hands steepled together in front of his chin.

"Is there something wrong Miss Hooper?"

"Sorry, it's just.. you reminded me of him."

He opens his eyes at that, puts his hands down and turns to look at her.

"That's not something I hear everyday."

"Yes, well, that's not something I see people do everyday," she responds.

He looks at her, a bit confused. "Excuse me?"

"You know, the whole..," and then Molly closes her eyes and mimics the pose.

"Ah, I see," Mycroft replies. "I was unaware he still did that. He used to mock me when he was younger. Thought he could annoy me somehow. I'll be delighted to inform him that he's picked up the trait subconsciously," he says, giving Molly a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

John returns, as well as Mrs. Hudson and Greg, the latter two bearing cups of tea. They hand them out, everyone saying their thanks.

More time passes and then another nurse walks over and informs them that they can go see Sherlock. He's in a private room so they can all go in at once, as long as they remain quiet and the keep the visit short. They all walk following the nurse, John leading the way. Molly takes a few steps and then notices that Mycroft hasn't moved and is still seated in the same spot, eyes unblinking. She walks back and taps his arm.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He blinks and shakes his head. "Yes… Miss Hooper?", he says, looking at her, the same weak smile on his face.

"Are you ready to go see Sherlock?"

"Yes of course," he replies, again blinking rapidly.

They walk down the corridor for a bit, John and the rest of them several steps ahead. Molly looks up at Mycroft, and even though he's walking it doesn't seem like he's really there.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about your brother."

He looks down at her, looks her in the eyes, and for the first time Molly can see how Sherlock and him are brothers.

"Thank you Miss Hooper."

* * *

They are all in Sherlock's room, John fussing over the equipment Sherlock is hooked up to, making sure everything is in working order. Mrs. Hudson is attempting to fluff his pillows and Greg is again making sure Sherlock knows just how lucky he is.

"You're one lucky git, you know that?"

"Yes, I am aware, thank you," Sherlock replies, his voice rough.

Greg reaches over, grabs Sherlock's forearm and squeezes.

"Ow," Sherlock says, wincing.

"Greg!", John looks over at Lestrade, wondering what he's going on about.

"Sorry, I just, I can't really give him a hug can I?", says Greg, looking away embarrassed.

The room goes silent, no one knowing how to respond to that.

"You'll be glad to know I've contacted our parents. They're flying back tomorrow. Mummy tells me she intends on staying with you until you've fully recuperated," Mycroft tells Sherlock, an amused smile on his face.

"Lovely."

John tells Sherlock about Janine. She was brought into the hospital as well but was released within a few hours. She also now knows that Sherlock just used her in order to get to Magnussen.

"What did she say?", asks Sherlock.

"Not much, she just kind of started laughing. Actually, maybe she was bit high when I talked to her," John replied, his brows coming together in confusion.

They all speak for a few more minutes, Mycroft excusing himself early to go place one of his agents outside Sherlock's room. Molly just stands there watching everyone. The fear and stress that was on everyone's faces less than an hour ago are gone, replaced with relief and smiles. She looks over at Sherlock and even though he's speaking to Greg, he's looking at her. She looks down, breaking the eye contact not really having anything to say. A nurse walks in, informs them that Sherlock needs to rest and that they can come back later. They all say goodbye to Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Be more aware of your surroundings dear," she says, and pats him on the cheek.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replies and gives her a small smile.

They all walk out, Greg first, followed by Mrs. Hudson, and then John.

"Molly."

Molly turns around, and Sherlock meets her eyes.

"Thank you for coming."

She smiles, looks down and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

"I'm just glad you're okay Sherlock."

She looks back up and Sherlock is looking at her, eyes soft, a half smile on his face.

"I'll see you later?", he asks.

She nods her head, "Just focus on getting better." She gives him another small smile and walks out, leaving Sherlock in the room to rest.


	7. Chapter 7

It's been about a month since Molly last saw Sherlock. She heard that he escaped a week after he was brought in. A few of Mycroft's agents came by and asked if she knew where he might have gone off to, but all she could come up with was her flat. Mary and John found him and brought him back a few hours later. He almost passed out, apparently, because of internal bleeding… _idiot._

There were a few times when she could have gone to visit him, but thought it better to just keep some space. Every now and then, that conversation in the stairwell would play over in her head. It hurt. It hurt knowing that all those times she's spent with Sherlock wasn't really what she thought it was. It was her own fault. She let her emotions get the better of her, and read too much into things.

He's texted her a few times, to which she replied. Nothing of importance, but it was evident that he was bored and wanted something to distract him.

**_Lestrade comes by fairly often. Said he saw you a few days ago. Busy at work? - S _**

**_Yeah. Mike's out on holiday. I'm covering for him. - M_**

And then a few days later..

**_Been working on anything interesting? - S_**

**_No, not really. - M_**

**_You should stop by. Bring some work. Mrs. Hudson is coming by later with biscuits. - S_**

**_I'll try but I'm busy. And you should be resting. - M_**

And then a few days after that..

**_John's here everyday. He says he might see you later for lunch? - S_**

**_Yes. Greg wanted him to have a look at a body so the both of them are coming around later. - M_**

**_Who's Greg? And why does he need to be there? - S_**

**_Lestrade. - M_**

**_Oh yes. - S_**

A few minutes pass and then..

**_Do you think afterwards you could come by? - S_**

**_Bring some pictures of the body. John might miss something. - S_**

**_I can't Sherlock. I have to stay late today and then tomorrow I have an early meeting. - M_**

She wasn't lying, she really was staying late and had a meeting in the morning. It was just a coincidence that she was trying to avoid him. He stopped texting after that. A week passed and now she's here with Greg. Apparently, Sherlock can go home soon.

"He's been complaining about some parts that he's got from you a while back going to waste. So I'm sure he'll be back in here as soon as he's out," he says chuckling. "Why haven't you seen him by the way?"

"Busy. Covering for Mike and all. Plus I'm sure if I went he'd want me to bring him a lung to look at or something."

"You're probably right," says Lestrade. Just then his phone rings. He checks it. "Well, what do you know? He's out."

Greg walks over to Molly and shows her a video that John just sent him. It's Sherlock arguing with the hospital staff over the fact that he doesn't need to be escorted out in a wheelchair. Suddenly, John's face is occupying the screen.

"What a dickhead," John says and shakes his head in disapproval. The video stops and Lestrade pockets his phone.

"Good luck, Molly. Might be best to have a spleen ready or something", Greg suggests, laughing and walking out.

"Great," says Molly, looking at the door as it swings shut.

* * *

Honestly, she thought he was going to come by that very same day. She wasn't able to calm down after that. Every time someone walked in, she thought it might be Sherlock. She wasn't sure how she was going to feel. She just didn't want to have to see him. At all. For the foreseeable future. So when two days passed without a word from him, she was finally able to calm down and not be so jumpy. The thing is, once you've let your guard down, that's always when things happen. As such, it was a Thursday when Sherlock decided he was going to stop by Bart's.

"Molly!" he says loudly, walking in as if he owned not just the lab, but all of Bart's.

She looks up from her clipboard, there he is grinning at her, and of course, there it is again. That feeling she always gets when she sees him. At least now she knows she isn't really angry with him anymore. Maybe a bit sad, but she'll get over it.

"Hi Sherlock." she says, gives a small smile and then goes back to her clipboard. She's checking on one of her projects and taking notes.

His smile fades a bit. But he shakes his head and walks over to her once he realizes that Molly isn't planning on looking up anytime soon.

"What are you working on?", he says, once he's closer to her and can see all the petrie dishes in front of her.

"Just analyzing some lung tissue." she replies, not taking her eyes away from the microscope.

"Oh." Sherlock is looking at her but she's not meeting his gaze. "Anything interesting?"

"Not yet. Did you want something?"

He shakes his head, "Nothing specific. Just wanted to see if there were any extra body parts laying around." He smiles at her now that she's finally looking up at him.

"I'm a bit busy right now. But I'll have a look later."

"No rush, would't want to disturb you from your work," he says, still smiling at her.

She looks back down at the microscope, shakes her head and mutters, "Yeah right." Okay, maybe she's still a little bit mad at him.

"Sorry?"

She clears her throat, "Nothing."

They both stop talking and Sherlock takes a seat on a stool near her station. He's not saying anything but he's looking at her. She can feel it.

"What is it Sherlock?", she sighs, not looking up from her microscope.

He doesn't say anything, so she looks up. Sherlock is staring at her.

"Sherlock?", she says, a bit louder.

Something in him registers that she's talking because he shakes his head and his eyes seem to focus.

"Huh?", he asks, genuinely confused.

"Why are you looking at me?" she questions him, brows furrowed together.

"It's nothing.. I, uh,.. you.. look…" he clears his throat, "..well."

Molly sighs, shakes her head and goes back to her work.

"You don't have to do that you know?" she says to him, looking down and she writes down some of her findings.

"I'm sorry?"

"You can stop it."

He pouts and and his forehead wrinkles trying to understand what she's on about.

"I'm sorry, Molly. You'll have to enlighten me. I have no idea what you're-"

"I heard you before," she says, looking up at him, her voice stronger than she feels. "I heard what you said to Janine. In the stairwell." All that pain she thought was gone begins to rise up, threatening to spill out of her.

"Molly, I-" he tries to say something but Molly cuts him off.

"I get it, Sherlock. Okay. I know you want some parts, but I can't look right now because I have to finish this. I'll have a look later," she's angry and sad, and if this was three years ago, she might be crying right now.

"I didn't mean to rush you. I, I, uh,-" Sherlock says, stuttering.

"Just don't worry about it anymore. It was my own fault. I thought we were close and you telling me that I mattered made me think that we were friends. But I get it. I help you and that's why I count. It was my own fault for reading too much into it. But you can stop now. You can stop pretending. If you want something, just ask me for it and if I can, I'll give it to you. But don't feel like you have to flirt with me, or give me a compliment just to get me to shut up and help you. I'll always help you Sherlock, but just do me a favor and stop lying."

Sherlock just sits there, not really knowing what to say. But he tries.

"Molly, I.. uh, I didn't mean to-"

She shakes her head and breathes in. She's still sad, but she can feel some of her anger slip away.

"Sentiment," she says, shrugging her shoulders. Her phone rings, she has a text. She reads it. "I have to go," she says, sniffing. "If I find any extra parts I'll let you know."

And with that Molly leaves, the door closing with a resounding click.


	8. Chapter 8

A few days passed since Molly's confrontation with Sherlock. It felt good to get all those feelings out, but afterwards, she just felt sad. She knew Sherlock heard her. Understood what she was saying to him, and she could see it in his face. His guilt. She didn't mean to be so emotional, but she couldn't stop it.

Molly did find some extra fingers that she could give to him, but when she came back, he was gone already. She put a label on them with his name on it, sent him a text and told him he could come by and pick them up whenever it was convenient for him. But he never showed.

When Sherlock finally came back to Bart's, it was with Lestrade and John. They were working on another case.

"Yeah, alright," sighed John, sounding annoyed as the three of them walked in, Sherlock the last one through the door.

"Molly," said Greg, by way of greeting. "Have you examined the body that was brought in this morning?"

"Helen Shaw?", asks Molly. Greg nods his head. "Yes, I just finished up with her about an hour ago. Did you need to see her?"

Greg looks over at Sherlock who is looking intently at his phone. "Uh, no," he looks back towards Molly, "but could we have the case file please?"

"Yeah of course." Molly walks over to the filing cabinet. "I just put it away, one sec."

"Were you able to verify the cause of death?", asks John. He glances at Sherlock, who is still looking at his phone and then looks back to Molly.

She finds the file and pulls it out. "Yeah, she drowned but she wasn't attacked and her wounds look self inflicted. Also, I'm pretty sure she fell and hit her head." Molly opens the file and hands it to John. "She also showed signs of a mild form of anaphylactic shock. She was stung by a bee, found the marks on her arm. I took some photographs of them.

"Great, thanks." John looks over the photos as Greg leans against the counter.

"So she wasn't murdered, but someone still dumped her body in the river?", Greg says, thinking out loud.

"No," Sherlock finally speaks up, but continues to look at his phone. He continues in a rapid pace, "Did you see her cupboard with the cleaning supplies? She had 8 different kinds of bug sprays and repellant. She also was an avid gardener. She loved the flowers, hated the insects. It's late in the year, so she wasn't expecting the bee. She saw it, it frightened her, she swung at it with her gardening tools accidentally cutting her arm then ran, unaware that the bee was now on her. It stung her and she fell in the river and hit her head. That's how she ended up 10 miles away from her home." Sherlock finally pockets his phone and looks up. "Thank you Molly," he says before abruptly turning around and walking out.

"Um, you're welcome," she says, looking over at John and Greg with a puzzled look on her face.

They both look at her just as confused.

"You're guess is as good as mine," John says to her, frowning and shrugging his shoulders. "He said he couldn't be sure he figured it out until we came here and talked to you."

"Right," she says, shaking her head, still confused.

* * *

Molly hasn't seen or heard from Sherlock since then. That was about a week ago. The more she thinks about it, the more she misses him. But maybe it's better this way. Maybe now she'll be able to separate how she feels and start seeing Sherlock as an acquaintance. She's walking down the corridor, her nose in a file when she turns the corner and literally runs into someone.

_THUD!_

"Oh! I'm sorry!", Molly exclaims, her papers fluttering to the ground.

"The fault is mine," she heard, in an all too familiar tone.

She looks up, "Sherlock!"

"Molly." He nods his head, then crouches down, picking up her papers for her.

"Thank you," she says as he hands them to her.

He nods his head in acknowledgement. Sherlock breathes in, opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, and then shuts it. He looks off to the side, not meeting her eyes.

"Is there something you need?", she asks.

He clears his throat. "Yes, I just left you a few samples in the fridge. I was wondering if you could analyze them for me when you have time. You can just text me the results when it's convenient for you."

"Actually, I'm just back from lunch. I can have a look now if you'd like," she says, looking up at him. He's still not meeting her eyes and really, that's a good thing, because she's annoyed with herself for being so accommodating when she _just _told herself it's good that they have space.

He glances quickly at her, and then looks back to a spot to the left of her face. "If it's not a problem."

"No, it's fine. I just need to drop this file off with Mike. You can go on ahead to the lab if you'd like."

He nods his head and they walk in opposite directions.

* * *

When Molly gets to the lab, Sherlock is standing with his arms behind his back looking out the window.

"Sherlock?"

He quickly turns, gives a tight lipped smile and gestures towards a station. "I went ahead and prepared a sample as to be less of an inconvenience."

She shakes her head, "It's not a problem Sherlock. I don't have anything on right now."

"If you insist," he replies, nodding his head.

Molly walks over and takes a seat in front of the microscope. "Is this for another case?", she asks him as she takes a look at the sample.

"No, just gathering data." He's standing a few feet from her, his hand still behind his back.

"Oh okay."

It's silent for a few minutes and then—

"Molly, I'm sorry for what I said to Janine."

She turns in her and looks up at him. He's now standing directly in front of her, looking her in the eyes.

"I understand that I hurt your feelings, and that was never my intention. You do tend to ramble and I admit that on occasion I did manipulate you to speed up the process. But I always considered you my friend, and I wanted you to know that that is why you matter." Sherlock pauses here, takes a breath and then says, "Please forgive me."

Not knowing what to say, she nods her head.

He gives her small smile, and steps closer to her, almost invading her space entirely. "Thank you," he says, his voice so low, it's almost difficult to make out what he said. Molly can't look away, and it's like she's getting tunnel vision. All she can see is Sherlock, everything else disappearing. Molly can't be sure, but it feels like Sherlock is getting closer. She can start to make out the different shades in his eyes and she can feel the heat radiating off of him. "Thank you for always being honest with me," he says, but it's more of a rumble.

"Okay," she says breathless.

_BANG!_

"Dr. Hooper, have you seen the case file from the autopsy this morning?"

Sherlock steps back and all the sudden the rest of the room comes into focus. Molly looks over at the door and one of the interns is walking through, pushing a cart filled with folders.

She clears her throat and shakes her head, trying to gather herself together. When she looks over at Sherlock, he's looking down, seeming very interested in a pencil.

"I gave it to Dr. Stamford."

"Oh! That's why I couldn't find it. Thought I was gonna get sacked!" the intern says smiling at them both.

"Yes well, thank you Molly," Sherlock says, suddenly distracted and seemingly in a rush. "Please text me the results when you get a chance."

"Oh, okay," she says, confused as to why he's moving so quickly.

He smiles at her and leaves.

The intern waves at Sherlock as he whizzes by. "See you later Mr. Holmes."


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N:_**** Sorry this chapter took so long for me to put out. Originally, I wanted to follow the storyline for series three but I was having a lot of difficulty for the whole Moriarty thing because honestly, I can't do it justice. In my head, Moriarty is back and shit is about to go down. But I'm just having so much trouble with it and honestly, that aspect isn't even really what my story is about so I'm just going to go another way. Basically, from this chapter on, it's not really going to tie in with the canon anymore. Sorry!**

* * *

It's been almost a month since Molly last saw Sherlock. The only communication they had was when she texted him the results of the samples she examined and he replied with

**_Thank you. -S._**

She heard that he'd been busy with a case so she hadn't spoken with him since he apologized to her. _That was nice.._ _but mustn't read too much into it. _Who knows what Sherlock is thinking, but at least he seemed sincere. And either way, she missed him, so at least now she can just move on.

Molly just arrived at Bart's and was in the middle of putting on her lab coat when she received a text.

**_Is it inconvenient if I come in and use the lab today? -S_**

**_Not at all. -M_**

As soon as Molly hits the send button, there's a ping out side the door, and less then a second later Sherlock walks in nodding his head at her in greeting.

"Molly."

"Hi," she says, taken aback by his sudden appearance. "That was fast."

"Yes, well," he seems distracted, looking around the lab.

When it's clear that Sherlock isn't going to say more, Molly says, "You can use your regular station. We're down one intern today so there's a an empty spot." Sherlock is still looking around but nods his head and that's the only indication that Molly gets that he is listening to her. "I'm leaving early, but you can stay as long as you need. Mike is covering for me so he can help you with anything."

"Very well. Thank you."

Sherlock walks over, taking off his jacket and folding it over the back of his chair. He sits down and starts setting up his station without another word.

The day passes without much said between them. Sherlock stays in the lab for the entire day, analyzing whatever it is he is analyzing while Molly is in and out. Before too long it's 3pm and Molly gets ready to leave. She walks back into the lab and sees Sherlock still working.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?", he grunts, without looking away from his microscope.

"I'm about to leave, so if you need anything just let Mike or one of the other interns know."

He finally looks up and checks the time. "Ah," and that's the only response she gets.

"Okay then," and Molly goes into her office to get her things. She shuts down her computer, puts on her coat and locks the door. When she turns around, Sherlock is there, standing in his coat, just finishing looping up his scarf.

"You're leaving too?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she says and gives him a small smile. "I'll see you later."

Molly walks around him and is about to open the door when Sherlock speaks up.

"Actually, I was wondering if you would like me to join you?"

She turns around and blinks up at him confused. "Sorry? Join me where?"

He clears his throat and focus on a spot to the right of her face. "I've been informed that friends accompany one another during important and significant emotional events." Sherlock blinks and then meets her eyes, "Today is the anniversary of your father's death is it not?"

Her mouth opens, but she doesn't know what to say so she just closes it again.

"Have I been misinformed? Do friends not do this?"

Molly scoffs, looking down, blinking. "No you haven't," she answers him, looking up. He looks so worried, as if he's done something horribly wrong. She half smiles at him and asks, "How did you know?"

Sherlock breathes out and she can see the worry leave his brows. "I have my ways," he answers her, matching her smile.

They are both silent, but it's comfortable. Almost like how it used to be between them. Finally Molly speaks up.

"Thank you, Sherlock, but it's okay."

He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. Clearly that wasn't the answer he was expecting. "What?"

She can't help but chuckle, he looks so confused. "While I appreciate the gesture, it's okay." Sherlock is still looking at her, brow wrinkled trying to understand what she is saying. "I'm used to be being alone," she says, shrugging her shoulders.

He nods his head at her, blinking, and she can actually see it on his face. The process of him trying to understand what she is telling him.

"Are you positive?"

"Yes, but honestly, thank you," she says, eyes warm and smiling. "You'd just be bored anyway."

"No doubt," he says looking down. "Do you mind if I ask what your plans are?", Sherlock asks, genuinely curious.

Sighing, she says, "I don't really have anything planned honestly. It's been a few years and I don't have any family in London. I usually just go home, think about my dad, watch some telly." Sherlock's eyes light up at that, but Molly is too distracted figuring out her evening to notice. "Actually, maybe I'll stop by the chippy," she says, more to herself than to him.

"Oh?"

Molly looks up and meets his eyes. "Yeah, my dad and I would always get fish and chips if we had nothing planned for dinner," she replies, still smiling.

Sherlock is looking at her and raises his brow, "I like chips."

"I know," she says laughing. "That's what you ate 90% of the time you spent in my flat."

"Yes, well you had nothing else to offer," he says with a shrug. "Besides you ate them as well."

"They were mine! You kept insisting I make them."

Sherlock doesn't reply. Just smiles sheepishly and shrugs again. They are both silent again, reflecting on the shared memory.

"Well then, I'm off. I'll see you later?", Molly asks.

He doesn't say anything. Just smiles and gives a little shake of his head.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she says, with a slight dip of her head before she turns around and walks out the lab.

Sherlock stands there, hands in his pockets and sighs, "Goodnight, Molly."


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: So this is the last chapter guys. Thank you all so much for reading this and reviewing and favoriting and everything! I really enjoyed writing this and I really can't say thank you enough! Hope you guys like this chapter!**_

* * *

"Heart weighs 370 grams, tissue appears slightly inflammed," Molly says loudly so that the recording device picks up her findings. She picks the heart up, taking it off the scale and places it on a tray with a sigh. It's been a long day. She was supposed to be done an hour ago but apparently this certain case couldn't wait and had to be done this instant. _If only Sherlock were here. He could've solved this case without needing an autopsy done. _She respected Scotland Yard, really. But whenever Sherlock was out of town, and he'd been gone for over a month this time, it seemed like more autopsies were demanded of them.

"Left lung weighs 345 grams, tissue appears healthy." Molly picks up the lung and places it on the tray. Walking over, she picks up more innards and brings it over to the scale. "Large intestines… 890 grams," she sighs, closing her eyes while bending her neck back and forth trying to crack it. She picks up her arms and attempts to stretch her back and when she opens her eyes Sherlock is there, looking at her with a confused look on his face. She doesn't move but blinks a few times, not really sure if he's there, or if she's actually fallen asleep and this is a dream.

"Sherlock?", Molly says, hands still up in the air.

"Molly?", he replies, blinking rapidly. "What are you doing?"

"An autopsy," she answers, now honestly not sure if he really is there or not. She brings her arms down. "Are you really here?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at her and then looks down at himself. He looks back up at her, "It would appear so."

She just narrows her eyes at him, still not convinced. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs at her, "Just got back from Cardiff. I called but you didn't answer. Just thought I'd drop by."

"Okay…", she says, eyes still narrowed at him.

Still unsure of reality, Molly goes back to work. She pulls out the large intestines, places it in a bucket, and then walks back to the corpse, scalpel now in hand. Sherlock walks up behind her and peers over her shoulder.

"What's next?"

"Stomach contents."

Sherlock nods his head but Molly doesn't see because she's looking down at the body. She brings up her hand and makes an incision. After she slices the stomach open, she starts poking around.

"Stomach contents show last meal close to the time of death, consisting of.. pizza. Topped with pepperoni, green peppers, mushrooms..", Molly closes her eyes and sighs, ".. mmm.. mushrooms. That sounds really good."

"How long have you been here?"

Molly opens her eyes and looks back at him. He's looking at her, brows furrowed together.

"Since 7:30 this morning."

"It's 8:47 in the evening."

She sighs, "Yes."

"Why are you still here?"

"We're under staffed at the moment. Scotland Yard needs to know the cause of death."

Sherlock scoffs, "That's easy. Heart attack."

Molly closes her eyes and drops her head back. "Yes, but what caused the heart attack. There aren't any clogged arteries and based on the medical records, she had no history of cardiovascular disease."

She opens an eye and looks at him, head still hung back.

"It was the botox."

She lifts up her head. "The what?"

"The botox. Look." Sherlock walks around her so that he is standing closer to the body. He points at the face. "Here, premature wrinkling around the eyes and mouth. Wrinkles along the forehead. They are extremely faint, so I would say she had the injections within the last 3 days. Hair recently dyed, and based on tan lines I'd say she's just returned from holiday." Sherlock brings his hand down and points towards the throat. "Thyroid appears slightly inflamed as well so it's safe to assume that this specific botox injection caused her to have hyperthyroidism there fore affecting the heart, causing extreme heart palpitations which caused the heart attack." Sherlock brings his hand back to his side and looks back at Molly. She's looking up at him, eyes bright and shiny.

"What is it?", confused by the look of awe on her face.

She smiles up at him, "I'm so happy you're back."

Sherlock doesn't have anything to say to that, so he just nods, looks down at the floor and smiles.

* * *

Sherlock has only been back in London for a week, but it's as if he never left. All the current unsolved cases that's been plaguing Scotland Yard have decreased significantly and Molly hasn't been harassed for autopsy results in days.

"Sherlock you have to promise not to take on cases that'll take you away from London for that long again," Molly says, as she walks into the lab sounding irritated, but one look at her face and Sherlock can tell she's just joking.

"I will make no such promise. That case was a 10," he says to her from across the work bench, smiling as he looks back down into his microscope.

Molly lets out a small laugh. "What are you working on?"

"I'm testing the effects of different types of tabasco with stomach acid," he says not looking up.

Molly sits down across from him and opens a folder she brought in with her. She pulls out a pencil from a pocket in her lab coat and starts scribbling. "Really Sherlock, thank you for coming in every day and for all your help this past week. I was finally able to get a full night's rest."

"No problem," he says, fiddling with the microscope. He sneaks a glance at her, but Molly is looking down at the desk and doesn't notice. Sherlock looks back down and clears his throat, "Molly?"

"Yeah?", she answers, head down focusing on her work.

"I was wondering if you'd like—"

Just then the door opens and a man with light brown hair, who Sherlock doesn't recognize walks in.

"Dr. Hooper?"

Molly looks up and turns to face him. "Jesse," Sherlock's nose twitches at the name, "Yes, what is it?"

"You're not an intern here," Sherlock says, eyes moving rapidly over _Jesse._

"Uh, no. I'm a pathologist. I'm just recently hired," says Jesse slowly, as if he were talking to a child. "We actually met a few days ago Mr. Holmes."

"I have no recollection of this," Sherlock replies, eyes narrowing.

"You did Sherlock. You must have deleted it or something," Molly says waving her hand dismissively. Sherlock looks away from Jesse and focuses on Molly. "Did you need something Jesse?", asks Molly, polite as always.

"Yes actually," Jesse says, smiling. "I have to submit a few reports. Mike went over it with me briefly on my first day but I don't remember all the steps exactly."

"Oh, yeah, okay." Molly gets up from her seat and walks over to a computer in the corner of the room. Jesse follows her, and Sherlock follows them. With his eyes. Molly is explaining how to submit the forms and which boxes to check and Jesse is listening and nodding his head at the appropriate moments. At one point, Jesse points to something on the screen and leans in close to Molly. She doesn't seem to notice though. She seems very much at ease, as does Jesse. Before long, they both stand up. Sherlock is still looking at them, but they don't notice because they are still too involved in their conversation.

"Thanks again Dr. Hooper. Sorry to be a bother," says Jesse, not sounding at all remorseful.

"It was no bother at all. And please, call me Molly."

"No."

They both turn and for the first time since they walked over to the computer they look at Sherlock.

"Sorry? What was that Sherlock?", asks Molly.

"He should address you as Dr. Hooper as that is your name and title," Sherlock states, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but it's just awkward," Molly says, a disgusted look on her face. " And I don't want to have to call him Dr. Reid."

"Why would you call him that?" asks Sherlock.

But Molly doesn't hear because at the same time Jesse says, "Actually, I wouldn't mind being called that," all the while smiling and looking at Molly.

She shakes her head at him. "Nope."

Jesse laughs and Molly smiles back.

"See you later, Molly," he says, walking out the lab.

Molly walks back to where Sherlock is sitting and sits down on the stool across from him. She has a smile on her face as she goes back to work. Sherlock is looking at her, eyes narrowed, observing.

"Do you like him?"

Molly freezes, hand holding the pencil and blinks. She puts down the pencil and looks up at him.

"What?"

"Jesse. Do you like him?", Sherlock asks, his voice flat.

"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "He's nice."

Sherlock nods his head, and looks away blinking.

"He reminds me of my cousin. He was my best mate growing up."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He lives in Edinburgh now. Don't get to see him much, but we're still close," Molly says, smiling again, and then goes back to work. "He's annoying like him too. Broke my obsidian scalpel the other day. That was my favorite."

Sherlock doesn't say anything. Just studies Molly as she writes on her forms.

The next day at work, Molly finishes scrubbing up and preparing for her first autopsy of the day when Sherlock barges in.

"Ah Molly, I've been looking for you."

"Sherlock," she says sighing, "I'm about to start an autopsy. Can it wait till later?"

"No it can't," and he walks over to her handing her a bag. "Here." He looks at her for less then a second and then his eyes dart around the room. "Well, I'll leave you to it." And with that he walks out, before Molly has a chance to say anything.

She removes her protective goggles and places it on a nearby tray. Opening the bag and looking inside, Molly smiles. Holding the bag she walks over to the tray with all her tools, reaches in the bag, and places her new obsidian scalpel where it belongs.

* * *

Unlocking her front door, Molly rushes inside her flat away from the cold. Closing the door, she shrugs off her coat, thankful for the soft light coming off of her christmas tree. She hangs up her coat and scarf and greets Toby, whose been rubbing up against her leg since she walked in.

"Hi," she says, bending down, scratching him behind his head. Toby gives her a purr and then walks over to the couch and curls up. She smiles at him and then walks further into her flat.

After an hour, Molly is wrapped up in her favorite quilt, wearing her favorite jumper, watching her favorite christmas program. Just as Mulder and Scully are shouting, pointing there guns at each other on her screen, her phone rings, alerting her of a text.

**_How was the annual work gathering? -S_**

**_It was okay. Food was tasty. -M_**

A few minutes pass and then

**_How are you parents? -M_**

**_Fine. -S_**

A minute later

**_Mycroft has been slowly devouring an entire cake. -S_**

**_Do you have pictures? -M_**

**_Of course. -S_**

Molly smiles and places her phone in her lap. Looking back at her television, Mulder is on the floor clutching at his stomach, shocked that Scully actually shot him. Her phone buzzes again.

**_Are you still awake? -S_**

**_Yes. -M_**

**_Why aren't you sleeping? -S_**

**_I'm watching The X-Files. And don't say anything. I love Mulder and Scully. -M_**

Sherlock doesn't text back for a while so Molly places the phone on her side table and leans further into her sofa. A few more minutes pass and then her phone buzzes.

**_Why are they crawling around on the floor shouting at each other? -S_**

**_They think they shot one another. But they didn't really. The ghosts that haunt the house are trying to get them to kill themselves. -M_**

**_They should kill each other. Get it over with. -S_**

Molly doesn't respond and a second later she gets another text.

**_I was joking. Of course they won't kill each other. -S_**

**_Thank you. -M_**

On the screen, Mulder finally realizes that he hasn't in fact been shot and is currently convincing Scully that she isn't either. She finally believes him and they both get up and run out of the house. The episode finishes with the final scene of Mulder and Scully sitting in his apartment as the snow falls outside. Her phone buzzes again and she sighs. Molly is expecting some sarcastic remark about one of her favorite 90's television program so she's a little taken aback when she sees

**_Merry Christmas Molly Hooper. -S_**

She looks up at her clock and sees that it's 12:01 am. She smiles to herself as she types

**_Merry Christmas Sherlock. -M_**

* * *

A few days after Christmas, Molly decides to drop by Sherlock's flat. She got him a gift, but didn't get a chance to give it to him before he left for his parents for Christmas. He's been so nice to her these past few months, she wanted to just give him something to say thanks. He hasn't asked her for anything, in fact, she can't remember the last time he asked her for any specimens or lab equipment. He just comes into Bart's and works there.

Getting off the tube, she walks up from the underground and walks in the direction to Sherlock's. It doesn't take her long to get there, and when she turns the corner, she sees Mycroft, Lestrade and Sherlock standing outside a few feet away from Sherlock's front door. They see her as she approaches.

Sherlock greets her first. "Molly," he says with a nod of his head. She smiles at him.

"Dr. Hooper," Mycroft says, with the same small nod that Sherlock just gave her. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas Mr. Holmes," she replies, smiling up at him. She finally reaches their little circle and stops, standing next to Lestrade.

He turns. "Molly," Greg says as he leans in for a hug. "Merry Christmas." Sherlock's eyes narrow at them and Mycroft smirks.

"Merry Christmas, Greg," she says in return as he pulls out from the hug but leaves an arm on her shoulder. "Do anything special?"

"Nah, just work," he says, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Yeah same."

Sherlock clears his throat and they turn to look at him. He's looking at something further down the street.

"Well then, best be off," Greg says, slapping his hands together. "Hate press conferences," he mumbles as he turns to leave. "Happy New Year you lot!" He shouts at them as he walks down the street.

Molly waves at him and the other two just watch him walk away. Finally Mycroft speaks up.

"Well then, brother dear, seems as though I'll be taking my leave. There are more pressing matters that need attending to," Mycroft says, sounding bored.

"As always. If you come across anything interesting, do tell," Sherlock mumbles, still watching Greg as he grows smaller walking further down the street.

"At the moment, little brother, I would say jealousy," Mycroft says, amused. Sherlock looks over at him, face twitching. "And that's my cue." He turns to Molly and smiles, "Happy New Year Dr. Hooper. I'll be seeing you soon, no doubt." Sherlock is glaring at him now.

Molly looks at Mycroft, a little frightened by the look on his face. It reinforces the fact that he _just knows things._ "Erm yeah. Happy New Year," she answers him, eyes wide, and then looks away. If she thought Sherlock studying her was odd, having Mycroft observe her is horrifying.

Mycroft looks back at his brother, grinning, looking as if he's eaten something extremely sour. Miraculously a car appears behind him and he turns and gets in. The door slams shut and the car pulls away.

"What's he on about?", Molly asks confused, watching the car drive away and then looks up at Sherlock.

"Nothing. Mycroft has his assumptions," he says, not taking his eyes off the car.

A few more seconds pass and then Molly clears her throat. Sherlock looks down at her.

"I, um, This is for you." She hands him a small gift bag, tissue sticking out of the top. "I was supposed to give it to you before you left for you parents, but I didn't get a chance to."

Sherlock takes the bag from her and holds it open with both hands. He looks in and smiles as he reaches in to pull out a human skull. He looks back up at her smiling but confused.

She shrugs at him, "I thought it'd be good for you to have two. Just incase the one you have disagrees with you, it's good to have a second opinion."

He nods his head, smiling at her and places the skull back in the bag.

They both stand on the street not saying anything. Molly has her hands at her sides, and Sherlock's are clutching the bag. A few more seconds of silence pass and then Molly speaks up.

"It looks like you were busy?" she asks.

"Yes. Lestrade has a case. Possible 8."

"Mycroft is involved?"

"No, he just came by. He does that, not sure why," he says, and she can see his brain trying to figure it out. He's silent again.

"Well that was it really. Just wanted to give you that," Molly says, pointing to the bag.

Sherlock doesn't say anything.

Molly smiles up at him him and gives a little wave, "I'll see you later, Sherlock." Not wanting to stand on the cold sidewalk in silence any longer, Molly turns to leave.

Just as she takes her first step Sherlock reaches out and grabs her hand.

"Molly, wait."

She turns around and looks up at him. He's looking at her, eyes focused solely on her. It's intense. Part of her wants to look away but she can't.

"Would you,.. would you like to stay?"

He starts blinking, a lot. And Molly breaks out of the trance and looks down at their hands.

He isn't wearing gloves, and she can feel the cold from his hands seeping through her mittens. It's weird. Her hand feels cold and warm at the same time.

When she looks back up, their eyes lock again and everything other than Sherlock starts to fade away.

"We can watch whatever program you want," and although his voice is steady, Molly can see just how nervous he is.

He squeezes her hand and without thinking she nods her head. Ever so slightly, the corners of Sherlock's mouth turn up and Molly thinks it's the happiest she's ever seen him.

Sherlock turns and Molly steps closer, and together they walk, hand-in-hand down Baker St.


End file.
